


Misappropriation

by Nevcolleil



Category: Chuck - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevcolleil/pseuds/Nevcolleil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck is pretty sure that the white room is what the CIA would consider a "misappropriation of funds"...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misappropriation

They try treating it like any other... "malfunction" the Intersect might have had.

It isn't, of course. And the last thing Chuck wants is to submit his dick to the CIA as just another part of his body to be evaluated. But Casey has a point; if Chuck doesn't learn everything he can about how the 2.0 affects his body, then he can't learn how to control it. And battling bad guys, bombs, and beaurocracy was hard enough when flashes _didn't_ give Chuck a hard-on, thank you very much. Chuck really wants to learn how to control what's happening to him. 

Also, Casey threatened to tell Sarah and Shaw if Chuck didn't like his idea.

"You know. So we can hash out alternatives," Casey said when Chuck didn't immediately love the plan.

Chuck got on board pretty quickly.

"Thought you'd see it my way, Bartowski," Casey said, smug.

 

At first, Casey schedules their "training sessions" for once a week.

He leads Chuck to a white room in the south quadrant of Castle. Chuck has no idea what Casey told the General to get it equipped for their purposes, but (so long as it isn't the truth) he doesn't care.

There are only two things in the white room: a sleek, metal pedestal with a glass-like top that operates via remote; and the chair that sits in front of it.

("Don't you need a chair, too?" Chuck asked the first day he and Casey scoped the room out.

"I'm not here to get comfy, Chuck," Casey told him. And Chuck figured, 'Just as well.' 

It wasn't like Chuck was going to be relaxing any time soon. _Purposefully_ popping a woody in front of a guy he's got to work with, day in and day out - and hopefully without blushing every time that they make eye contact after this.)

Casey's plan for Day One is to gather "intel" by provoking Chuck into flashing - sometimes just on data, sometimes with video meant to trigger the kinesthetic programming new to the Intersect 2.0. Once they know whether the problem is one kind of flash over the other, or just flashing in general, they'll know where to go from there.

Chuck's plan is to try and escape the day with some shred of dignity.

They both fail.

Chuck can't tell, by the end of the session, if he's so hard because of a particular kind of flash... or because of a specific combination of flashes. Or because he's spent the last fifteen minutes trying not to squirm too tellingly in his chair, trying not to breathe too heavy, and clenching the edge of the console in front of him in a white-knuckled grip.

He's spent the last fifteen minutes pretending that the scents of gun oil, and cotton, and Casey don't affect him more strongly when he's aroused than they already do normally. 

Chuck hasn't had sex with anyone since Prague. He's always had a better appreciation for Casey's rough tenor and sculpted muscles than the big man would probably be comfortable with. And so he can't really give Casey anything but an apology when, as their session ends, Casey asks, "Well?"

Casey schedules their Day Two for two days later.

 

Chuck starts to get an idea of what they're up against after a few excruciatingly embarrassing, and surprisingly confusing, weeks of "training" in the white room. 

Casey makes notes of their... progress... in a notebook Chuck makes him swear on the fate of the GOP that he'll destroy as soon as they're done with all this. 

The 'embarrassing' part of things reaches a head one day when Chuck is feeling especially bitter about this latest joke that the cosmos have apparently conspired to play on him, and the 'confusing' part kicks in immediately after that.

"Okay, _really_ , Casey? Do I really need to spell it out for you?" Chuck explodes after the second consecutive request he's made that they end a session early, and the second consecutive time that Casey's denied him. "I need to go home and _jerk off_ , alright? Or else I'm going to come in my pants! Is that clear enough for yo-" 

Chuck stands, and then everything changes. Because Casey clamps one large, vice-like hand, like one side of an open shackle, on the back of Chuck's neck and bends Chuck over, towards the console, so that Chuck has to catch himself on it's cool surface, as he kicks Chuck's chair away.

"Ca-"

"You think I don't know that? I've gotta _listen to it_! Every. Single. Time! Is it that easy to forget that you've got bugs in your bedroom, Bartowski? Or do you just think testing my patience is a wise move?"

"Casey, I'm-"

"We're not done here, Chuck. There's only so many of these goddamned 'training sessions' I can take, so we're making every one count!"

"No, Casey, _don't-_ "

Casey pushes a button on his remote. Chuck's face is only inches away from the console as an image of a canoe flashes across its surface. He flashes... On a submarine, a mugshot, a string of chemical formulations... His eyelashes flutter and his face goes slack and his dick bobs in his shorts, an amazing burst of pleasure sizzling down his spine and into his palms, his balls, and his cock.

"Oh..." 

Chuck shudders all over. 

But Casey doesn't stop. "Casey!" Chuck yells as Casey pushes the button again. This time the console plays a recording of a man lifting his gun towards the camera. Of course, Chuck knows that the man is only an image, but the picture quality of the recording is clear enough, and Chuck is close enough, that the Intersect is fooled.

He flashes.

His fingers curl as if around the weight of a weapon, his body feels electrified. Casey's hand is warm on the nape of his neck; Casey's face is _right there_ , his breath a puff of hot air against the shell of Chuck's ear.

"Every... damned... time," Casey quietly repeats. "But not this one, Chuck."

"Casey..." Chuck protests again, but this time with a little less heat, a little less breath. Casey is leaning into him. The impossibly hard muscles of the front of Casey's large thighs flush against the backs of Chuck's. The front of Casey, period, against the back of Chuck. And unless Casey's started carrying his fire arm front and center - and the thing's muzzle has gained in size and length - Casey is just as hard as Chuck is through the material of both their pants. 

One more flash is all that Chuck can take. A picture of a skyscraper prompts a cascade of mugshots and surveillance reports to parade through Chuck's brain... and a wave of orgasmic sensation to spill through his body. Chuck can't fight it. He can only stand there, in Casey's grasp, bent and surrounded, and come in his pants, uncontrollable sounds of completion tumbling past his lips.

He hasn't recovered the ability to speak, to think, when Casey says, "You're welcome, Chuck," and leaves the room.

 

There are plenty of options for _what_ , actually, confuses Chuck about this incident.

Although his own reaction to the situation shouldn't surprise anybody, Chuck thinks, Casey's reaction is frankly enlightening. But, while Chuck's sure it probably has something to do with the man's pathological fear of conversations not involving politics or planning violence, the thing that Chuck decides to be confused about is why Casey ran away immediately after prompting Chuck into one of the kinkiest sex scenarios of his life. 

Trying to talk to Casey about that, however, proves difficult.

"Look. You hit a block in your training. I pushed you over it. That's what training is about, Chuck," Casey deflects, refusing to look at Chuck when Chuck finally chases him down for some answers.

"Training. Yeah. We could call it that. Or we could call it-"

Chuck's not sure what they could call it, actually. Besides the strangest, hottest experience of all time. But whatever _he_ would call it, Casey obviously has another word in mind by the way his head whips up and the look in his eyes when he finally looks at Chuck. 

Casey looks... sorry. That would be a blow to Chuck's ego. Except Casey looks ashamed, too, and not in an 'I can't believe I sort of jerked off _this guy_ ' kind of way.

"What do you want me to say, Chuck?" Casey asks, sounding somber. "That I went too far and I'm sorry? I am, alright? You don't need to remind me. I forced you to- If you want to report me to the General, then I'll under-"

"Hey! Whoa, Casey, that's not what I'm saying!"

"Then what, Chuck? Spit it out before this awkward fucking situation can get any more uncomfortable!"

Chuck slowly bites the bullet. "I just wanted to ask... why didn't you join in?"

Chuck must sound like an idiot. But Casey hardly seems to notice. If Chuck was shocked to find Casey hard in the white room, then there's no word for what Casey is now.

"I didn't start all of this just so I could get into your pants, Bartowski," Casey grunts, in the way of an answer.

' _But that doesn't mean that I don't want you there_ ,' Chuck thinks. But Casey's run away again before Chuck can think it out loud. 

 

The next time they're scheduled to have a session, Chuck isn't sure that he won't be showing up to the white room alone. Casey's made himself scarce over the last few days, but he there's when Chuck arrives for their session, and they begin again almost as if nothing happened the last time to make him stay away.

It's harder for Chuck now, though (excusing the pun.) Chuck can't stop thinking about Casey, about how he felt pressed up against Chuck. About what he said - about what he didn't say. 

Chuck is squirming in his seat, ready to break - to ask for another early day that he knows Casey won't give him, or to ask for the impossible thing that he kind of asked for the last time he and Casey spoke; anything to ease the hot, heavy pressure in his groin.

Then Casey's hands settle onto Chuck's shoulders. Chuck would jump, startled, except Casey leans down, too, and says near Chuck's ear, "So, how do you want to do this?" 

Chuck has to force his breathless answer through a mouth gone dry. "Uh... We- I liked... how we were last time. When you-"

"Alright. Stand up."

Chuck does, on weak knees, still not quite believing that this is _happening_ \- they're going to do this! Casey pushes Chuck's chair away and steps up behind him and all of the hairs rise on the back of Chuck's neck in anticipation.

Chuck squeaks when Casey wraps his fingers around Chuck's neck, slowly this time, and he goes red, but Casey doesn't give him grief about it.

"You sure about what you said, Chuck? You want me to-"

"Of course I do." Now more than ever. Chuck doesn't know what turns him on more. The idea that Casey is going along with this - that Casey wants him too; the fact that Casey's hand is on Chuck's fly as he asks; or the sound of Casey's voice, like he can actually imagine a world in which Chuck isn't desperate to know what it feels like to have Casey inside of him.

"You're asking for a lot," Casey says, unbuttoning and unzipping Chuck's pants with nerve-stripping patience. And there's humor in his voice - confirming what Chuck already guessed: that he isn't talking about Chuck's _request_ being too big.

"I'm counting on it," Chuck says.

So Casey gives it to him.

 

These days, Chuck and Casey "train" about three times a week.

They've more or less put phase two of their so-called plan to manage Chuck's "condition" on hold, but it's not like it's turned out to be an issue in the field. Nothing Chuck feels after a single flash, or even ten, while on a mission, can compare to what it is to flash with Casey shoved up inside of him, Casey pistoning in and out of Chuck's body, whispering dirty nothings in Chuck's ear. 

Sometimes, Chuck can't count how many times he's come by the time Casey peels his pants and boxers down off of his hips. And still, Casey fists a hand in Chuck's hair, holding Chuck's head up and says, "Keep your eyes open, Chuck," as he reaches between Chuck's sticky legs and begins spreading the wetness of Chuck's come back and upwards, into the slit of Chuck's ass. 

Sometimes Chuck is more than willing. Sometimes he's so overstimulated, by the time that the blunt head of Casey's thick cock begins nudging at his hole, that he whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut as Casey enters him. (Chuck usually preps himself before they begin, now.) 

In that case, Casey seats himself inside of Chuck, holding Chuck up with his powerful legs and the angle of their joined bodies, his hands on the sides of Chuck's head, his fingers scissored around the tight clench of Chuck's closed eyes.

"Eyes open, soldier. Or I'll open 'em for you. I want to feel your ass going crazy around my dick."

"Oh god..."

Chuck is almost always sobbing through a final release by the time Casey lowers them to the floor of the white room and finishes himself off, pounding into Chuck with enough force to move them along the floor if he doesn't hold Chuck steady with his hands locked onto Chuck's shoulders like braces.

Chuck is pretty sure that the white room is what the CIA would consider a "misappropriation of funds". But it's also the place where Chuck learned that the peculiar updates to the Intersect 2.0 aren't a "malfunction" at all - as far as Chuck's concerned, they're a blessing. They've changed things, between Chuck and Casey at least, in ways that spill over out of their training sessions in more and more ways each day. And - so long as Chuck never needs to know whether or not his Dad _knew_ about the updates when he made the 2.0 for Bryce - then he thinks that he and the new Intersect can co-exist quite happily.


End file.
